


Rebel Rebel

by skamsnake



Series: Ziggy Stardust Series [1]
Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Meet-Cute, Sander’s POV, alternative POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 02:43:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21190256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skamsnake/pseuds/skamsnake
Summary: Sander’s thoughts this morning. With heavy Bowie references. Because Bowie.





	Rebel Rebel

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone waiting for updates on my elu fics, thank you for your patience - hopefully I’ll be back on my smutgame soon ❤️
> 
> For now have a lil Sander POV. Ugh I’m already in love with these dorks.

_  
*** _

_ Think! Think think think! _

“Do you know where I can find the coffee?” he says as casually as possible, leaning against the door frame in feigned confidence, “Or food in general?”

“No, did you already look in...”

Luckily, the boy doesn’t look as frightened as Sander thought he would, doesn’t look as frightened as he probably should be. But every bit as beautiful as in the photo.

_ That _ photo.

The photo he took that night when he decided to let out his inner rebel _ rebel, you torn your dress _ and went to that graffiti thing with the rest of his contemporary art class, because apparently that’s how you _ rebel rebel your face is a mess _these days. 

Not one day has passed when he hasn’t looked at that photo. But not for the reasons they might assume. Not for the artistic value of the painted truck or the screaming baby nor to refine his photography skills or plan his next art project.

_ Rebel rebel, how could they know? _

He saw him. A boy. Right there in the corner of the photo. Right now out of the corner of his eye. _ Right_. _ Now._

_ Think think think! _

“Seriously, are you the manager?” he interrupts the boy and his own train of thoughts, trying to come up with the next move to impress him, or at least to not scare him away.

The boy just smiles. Cute and confused and countless steps behind Sander’s plans to get them out of there. Just for a minute. Just for a moment. To get to see him properly. To get to ask him his name.

Which would be the first lie of the day. He knows it alright. Of course he does.

“When I booked this room, I explicitly asked for room-service” 

_ Robbe._

The photo wasn’t even properly developed before he asked Britt about the boy who was hanging out with Noor. _ Too much? _

“...too much to ask to get some bacon and eggs and beans in tomato sauce in the morning?”

_ Maybe. Probably. _

But the boy just smiles. Cute and confused and surprisingly comfortable considering the situation. Considering the fact that there’s a complete stranger in his kitchen.

A stranger who just happened to know his name weeks ago. A stranger who just happened to do location spotting for an art piece around the skate park, just because he heard Noor was maybe going there with some guy.

“Yes, that’ll be zero stars on booking.com” he pulls out his phone and seriously this joke is starting to get old.

“What?” the boy seems to agree, “Sorry, but who even are you?”

Sander laughs exaggeratedly and the boy stops smiling for a moment. 

“Your face, hilarious. Come, we’re going to get food for real” he says, eager to move things along.

“But Amber said-“

“Amber is still sleeping” he walks out the door, praying to the moon and the stars and everything in between that he’s intrigued enough to follow. 

“Come on” he speaks over his shoulder, then turns to stop. Well maybe he didn’t have to pray so much if he actually introduced himself like a decent person.

“Sander, by the way” he extends his hand in invitation and Robbe takes it, the warm palm of his hand momentarily brushing against his own.

“Robbe” 

_ Yes, I know._

**

“Great you found it” he pushes the cart in front of him, trying to move as fast as his heart is beating.

“How many hotdogs do you eat per person, three, four?” he asks, filling up the cart with help from Robbe, clearly still confused but complying, so far.

“You don’t have to scan everything” he teases, pushing it.

“Fuck”

“What?”

“Amber just sent me the shopping-“

“Give it to me” he interrupts him again, wanting to kick himself as he snatches Robbe’s phone and pretends to read the text.

“Nope. Maybe.” he hands back the phone and continues to fill up the cart carelessly, “Where are the chips and the mayonnaise?”

“Amber said-“

_ Amber this. Amber that. _

“Amber’s not here”

_ But you’re here. How are you here? _

“How do you even know Amber” 

“Wait” Sander stops.

He hears it before his brain properly registers it, his body instantly reacting as his mind slowly catches on, as if he spotted an old friend in the far distance, instinctively knowing it’s someone he loves even if they’re still too far away to be properly recognized.

He closes his eyes and lets the music flow through him, electrical impulses travelling along well known neural pathways to create the system of sound known as _ song _ and with that song an illusion, like binaural beats or Risset’s rhythmic effect, a feeling that _ this _ exact song, in _ this _ exact moment, has a deeper meaning. 

_ A sign. What else could it be? _

“Bowie. Do you know David Bowie?” he smiles.

“Yes, vaguely” Robbe blushes.

“Like in, not really”

“No, I do” he insist and it’s the sweetest.

“Okay, then name three of his songs” Sander calls him out for no particular reason other than to bring back that pretty blush on his cheeks.

“Space cowboy, isn’t that one of his songs?” Robbe asks, hopeful.

“You mean Space Oddity” Sander smiles and Robbe does too, climbing the cart between them almost like he’s aiming to close the distance between them. At least that’s what Sander imagines. 

“But really, he has such good songs. Space Oddity, Life on Mars, Ziggy Stardust, Ashes to Ashes. Really I can keep going. Tin Machine, do you know that one?”

“No” he admits, still draped over the cart adorably. 

“You know, Bowie has been in the studio with all the biggest stars” he continues to pick up stuff from the shelves, “No, all the big names have been in the studio with him” he corrects himself.

“And did you know Bowie has also been a mime?” he does a poor imitation and Robbe smiles again, maybe more out of pity than anything else, “A singer who was a mime, how crazy is that?” 

“Crazy”

_ Hang on tightly. _

He pushes the cart and next thing they’re twirling, like tiny bits of stardust connecting, whirling like the center of their own universe, faster and faster and achingly slow, knowing nothing about where they’re going but the promise that it won’t be boring. 

“Wow, that’s expensive” he smiles as the scanner bleeps like a space gadget and Robbe smiles and blushes, beautiful like he too was sent from the stars.

_ Rebel rebel, how could they know? _

_ Hot tramp, I love you so! _

He doesn’t realise it until it’s too late, until reality comes crashing down around him and Robbe is launched into a wall of cardboard boxes crashing under the weight of him.

“Everything allright?” he asks and turns in an attempt to sneak off from his mess like so many times before, whistling over his shoulder and praying to the moon and the stars and everything in between that Robbe will forgive him enough to follow. 

Knowing full well that maybe he didn’t have to pray so much if he actually stopped to help him up, you know, like a decent person.

  
***  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I’m skamsnake on tumblr, come say hi <3


End file.
